Don't you think that I'm out of stories. Not only the old ones are not fully told to anyone yet, the new ones are still piling. But...
It seems I've crossed a Rubicon. I am at a point in my life, where I don't feel like telling any more stories.
It's not the stories that are tired. It's me, who has grown tired, old, bitter, and lonelier than ever before. Perhaps it's time for a final set of pictures, nay, portraits to hang, to garland, to forget.... and to end it all.
P.S. - the sketch and the painting and the keyring were gifted to me by some special friends, students, well-wishers. Don't judge it adversely though, for the portraits are well-made. It's the face that's twisted.
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